


komorebi

by sheelia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheelia/pseuds/sheelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against better judgement Kuroo follows Oikawa's suggestion of getting a summer job and they end up working in a large multistory electronic goods store in bustling Ikebukuro. Oikawa is, not surprisingly, placed in the women's beauty section, while Kuroo has been relegated to the video game department. So, he spends the rest of his summer trying to convince himself that things will get better. (Spoiler: It does.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [nervous laughter] Yes. This is my submission for HQBB 2015. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.
> 
> Thank you _so so_ much to [Han](http://hanromi.tumblr.com/) (the amazingly talented artist) and [Ellie](http://iwaizumi-hajimie.tumblr.com/) (my lovely beta). Thank you so much for holding my hand through this and putting up with my complaining on skype for the past 2 months. From what I know about my writing style, I find that I have problems with 1) commitment and 2) maintaining an interesting plot. Expectedly, I faced similar difficulties when I wrote this (I believe I wrote like, four other things during the time that I was supposed to finish this). However, I'm really thankful for the opportunity to participate in HQBB and I'm so glad that I eventually finished writing this lol.
> 
> The title is from the phrase 木漏れ日, which refers to the sunlight that filters through the leaves. It's one of those words that is difficult to translate into English, and I think it captures the feeling I tried to convey through this story. I'm very much one for those moments you can't describe with words.

By Kuroo’s first day at his new summer job — a sales assistant at a bustling electronic goods store in Ikebukuro — he had realized at least three things:

  1. Never trust Oikawa and his job-hunting skills, even if he means well;



  1. Never offer to help Yaku reach anything on the storeroom shelf, even if he has trouble reaching it, and;



  1. Never drink the 3 in 1 instant coffee from the pantry, even if it’s free.




He spent twenty minutes hogging the only bathroom on the floor, body hunched over and elbows resting on his knees long enough to leave red imprints, contemplating the misfortune he had found himself in. The ventilation in the single stall must be broken — Kuroo should probably inform someone — and the air was dry and stale, reminding him of the summer heat outside.  With cold sweat running down the small of his back, the warm and stuffy heat was just enough to hold him back from the cold embrace of death.

_This would be fun!_ Oikawa had said.

_Think of the staff discount!_ Oikawa had repeated at least three times before they walked into their job interview.

Kuroo groaned. He could have been at home under his blanket, wasting his summer away in peace.

He thought of Oikawa waving his hands around in vague circles, as he always did when he stretched the truth. He must be having the time of his life right now in the women’s beauty section on the third floor. And here Kuroo was, emptying out his breakfast _and_ lunch.

Kuroo emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, looking like he had just run a marathon. He clutched a hand over his stomach and grimaced. Now would be a good time to collapse on the floor — at least he’d get to go home.

Yaku jogged over, asking, “Kuroo, you all right?”

“If I said no, would you let me go home?” Kuroo replied weakly.

Yaku gave him a slap on the back (he would have slapped him on the shoulder if it weren’t for that height) and laughed, “Doesn’t sound like you have a problem,” then, unexpectedly, or rather expectedly, given that it was Yaku who was speaking, he resumed his nagging, “Get back to work.”

Kuroo watched him explain in excruciatingly boring detail how the products were arranged. Handheld consoles — Nintendo 3DSs, PSPs and the like — were displayed on the counters in the center of the floor space. Games were on the shelves against the walls, but the new arrivals had their own special aisle near the entrance. And there was the discount bin, inconspicuously placed near the emergency exit.

Kuroo blinked hard, trying to force himself awake.

“I think you should be able to handle the video game section. You’re young. You play games right?”

Kuroo wanted to remind him that they were actually the same age, even though Yaku had the air of an experienced salesman, while Kuroo was like a bumbling twelve-year-old. He also wanted to mention that _no_ , he knew nothing about video games. There was that time when Oikawa and him had tried to play _Silent Hills_ on his computer, and that ended with screaming and spilt soda all over his keyboard.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” Kuroo eased into an awkward smile in an attempt to mask the embarrassment from his voice cracking mid-sentence.

“So. Got any other questions?” Yaku placed both hands on his hips and heaved a little, feeling somewhat exerted after the speech.

Kuroo directed his gaze to the far end of the room. “Why’s there an Apple store on this floor?”

There seemed to be a clear divide: the Apple store had its own grey carpet in the middle of nowhere and a sleek LCD TV hanging on the wall, while the other “lesser” electronic goods just had regular white shelves and nondescript flooring.

Yamamoto cleared his throat, “Rule number one, we do not talk about the Apple store.”

Yaku narrowed his eyes at Yamamoto, who had spontaneously decided to join their conversation. “If you haven’t noticed, this place has a really weird way of arranging their goods. Take the third floor, for example. They put the women’s beauty section and the electronic toilet bowl section together. At least our floor is somewhat related.”

He suddenly thought about Oikawa selling curling irons with the sound of toilets flushing in the background and, to his dismay, realized that that would be ten times more interesting than _this_.

“Rule number two,” Yamamoto held two fingers up in a V, ironically in the shape of a peace sign, “We do not acknowledge the presence of the Apple store.”

Kuroo clucked his tongue, feeling a little cheeky, “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Rule number two!” Yamamoto practically shouted, before walking off to serve another customer.

He glanced over at the Apple store employees, clearly dressed in a different and nicer looking uniform — black polo tees, compared to the ugly red vests they had to wear. Not to mention the fact that Kuroo had a neon yellow arm band that spelt in bold letters: TRAINEE.

Terrific.

 

●

 

Oikawa was waiting for him at the first floor entrance at the end of their shift, holding a large cardboard sign that said SALE. Kuroo had already changed out of his white dress shirt and god forsaken red vest and now donned a simple black v-neck. He squinted at the cardboard sign in Oikawa’s hands, waiting for an explanation.

“Kuroo!” Oikawa lit up at the sight of Kuroo. Looking at the sign in his hands, he said, “You were late, so they made me hold this while I waited for you.”

The walk to the train station during peak hour was difficult. It was hard to get any conversation going since they couldn’t walk side by side. Oikawa shouted something over his shoulder to Kuroo, who was walking behind him, and Kuroo replied with an ungraceful “What?”.

“Sooo Kuroo, how was your first day?” Oikawa was heaving slightly, pushing air forcefully out of his nose. It might have been because he had repeated the question five times.

The station was just as crowded, but at least they got to stand together on the platform while they waited for the train.

“Painful.”

Oikawa flashed him a toothy grin and it almost made Kuroo want to punch him, “Well mine was fantastic!”

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a box of chocolate biscuits.

“A customer gave this to me after I sold her a hairdryer. Amazing, right?”

Kuroo gave him a derisive snort, internally complaining at how unfair the world was. Oikawa ripped the packaging apart and tilted the packet towards Kuroo. He prodded it at Kuroo’s arm for good measure.

“No, Oikawa. I’m not indulging in your betrayal biscuits.”

Oikawa shrugged, “Fine fine, suit yourself.”

He nibbled on the biscuit sticks softly. From the distance, Kuroo could hear the rumbling of train tracks. There was something refreshing about the Yamanote Line; Kuroo couldn’t quite put a word to it. The train sped past him and sent the stray ends of his hair over his face. Stuffing his half eaten box of biscuits in his bag, Oikawa gingerly followed Kuroo onto the train, careful not to slip into the platform gap.

“What kind of black magic did you have to do to get free food?” Kuroo asked when they were squished inside the carriage. Being taller than the average Japanese man had its benefits, and that included breathing space on the train.

“Tch. Black magic, my ass. I used my natural charm.”

Kuroo stared back at Oikawa with the straightest face he could muster.

“Okay, okay, I might have exaggerated some things in my sales pitch,” Oikawa admitted, instinctively reaching for the back of his nape and accidentally elbowing the person next to him. Oops.

“So I don’t know what’s so special about ionic hair dryers. Do they spray ions on hair? Do they turn your hair into ions? Who fucking cares. Sue me,” Oikawa shrugged as far as his shoulders would let him without hitting someone else.

Kuroo bit his lip, trying to hold in his roaring laughter. It was rush hour on a packed train and he figured the gentleman in front of him probably wouldn’t appreciate spit in his hair. Instead, he released a muffled giggle.

“She gave you her number, didn’t she?” Kuroo managed to say after calming down.

And then Oikawa flashed his signature pompous grin and waved his right hand, unintentionally slapping the back of someone else’s head.  

●

 

On his second day, Kuroo found himself standing in front of the new arrivals rack, fighting the price tag gun in his hand. The stickers had managed to jam inside the thing — god knew how — and Kuroo was trying to find a button or a lever to open it up. Or, he could just smash it onto the floor. That was another way to open something.

In the midst of wrestling his price tag gun, he didn’t realize that a customer had come to stand beside him, hands on his half bent knees as he scrutinized the display. When Kuroo had it all figured out (the button was at the base of the death machine), he turned in the other direction, wanting to announce his triumphant victory to somebody, even if it had to be Yamamoto.

That was, until he bumped into the crouched figure in front of him and let out a loud “Oof!”.

The other guy barely nudged. Kuroo glanced down at his oddly colored hair, bleached blonde with black roots. A fairly odd combination. _Lazy_ , but interesting.

“I’m sorry about that!” He finally remembered to say, the yellow band feeling a little bit heavier on his arm.

At Kuroo’s voice, the boy stood upright and gazed up at Kuroo with his large, piercing eyes, and Kuroo felt his breath seize in chest for a split second. And at the next moment when he blinked, it was all over; the boy had returned to his uncomfortable crouching position and Kuroo was still holding his son of a bitch price tag gun.

“Kozume-san!” Kuroo heard a voice calling out from behind him. It was Yaku, who was jogging over with some urgency.

The boy stuffed his hands into his sweater pockets. A sweater? In this heat?

“Kenma.”

Yaku corrected himself, “Kenma-san!”

“Just,” he squeezed his eyes together, “Kenma.”

“Kuroo! This is Kenma, one of our regulars,” Yaku introduced.

Kuroo found himself at a loss for words, so he just nodded. He could at least do that.

“Nice to see you again, Kenma,” Yaku smiled, reaching out to pat Kenma on the shoulder. Despite his appearances, Kenma was alert, shifting his shoulder back a little such that Yaku’s hand just swiped at thin air.

"Mm, you too," Kenma replied, eyes wandering back to the display. He seemed slightly fidgety and uncomfortable, the weight of two pairs of eyes staring at him a bit too much of a burden.

There was a loud crash in the background, followed by Yamamoto’s high-pitched, needy whine. When Kuroo spun his head around, he saw Yamamoto's body draped over the overturned discount bin. He had meant to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't stop the wave of intense laughter rising up his throat.

Yaku used a hand to scrub over his face. Kuroo had a feeling that this wasn't the first time.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Crisis control."

Kuroo wrung his hand around the price tag gun, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He's trying to look professional, or do whatever it is that salesmen did. Should he start recommending games? But even he knew that was a stupid idea. Kenma would just see right through him with his large, gold eyes.

God dammit.

"Ummm," he started, not sure if it was appropriate to go on a first name basis, "Kozume-san."

Kenma's lips curved into an annoyed frown.

Kuroo started over, "Kenma. Let me know if you need any help."

Kenma nodded, and the slight jerk of his head caused a few strands of his longish hair to fall over his brows. He glared up at his hair, then blew at it repeatedly to get them out of his eyes. Kuroo didn't even realize that he had been staring until Kenma was done, his gaze shifted onto Kuroo now. Panicking, he gave a quick bow, then slid away to hang around the cashier.

It had to be the anxiety of working a new job. That was what Kuroo was going to call it. He felt the intense compulsion to impress Kenma. Well, not Kenma _specifically_ , but still.

Kenma walked over five minutes later with a game in his hand. He stuck it out at Kuroo, saying, "I'd like to get this."

Kuroo took it into his hands, staring wide-eyed in horror at the cover art. There were 3D renderings of zombies and dead corpses, and when he tilted the case side to side, the holographic images on the cover changed. He wasn't sure if he should be impressed or mortified.

"Oh!" He suddenly remembered and shouted abruptly, startling Kenma. He pointed at the red label on the top right hand corner of the case, "Do you mind if I check your ID?"

Kenma huffed, blowing hot air out of his nose. He stuffed a hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, nimbly picking out his student ID. Kuroo‘s lips curved ever so slightly as he noted how Kenma looked in his ID photo: seemingly caught in a half-sneeze, his nose faintly scrunched up.

“Don’t. Say. A. Word,” Kenma must have realized that Kuroo had a pair of wandering eyes.

Kuroo snapped himself back to work mode, “You need to be 18 years old to purchase this game.”

“I’m turning 18 this year,” Kenma replied in a measured tone.

“Ah yes, but,” Kuroo stammered, finding it hard, for some reason, to follow standard protocol. “You’re not 18 yet. Might I suggest choosing something else?” He shifted a little, finding it uncomfortable talking in his employee voice, and also because his uniform was washed in starch and he felt like a walking piece of cardboard.

At that moment Kenma’s face scrunched up into a detestable frown, as if he had accidentally swallowed something sour by mistake. They stood there looking at each other like that for a while: Kenma physically expressing his dissatisfaction, and Kuroo feeling as if he had let down the entire world.

“ _Ugh_. Fine,” Kenma’s shoulders collapsed in a long, drawn out sigh. He dragged himself over to the re-erected discount bin, pointedly ignoring the rest of the items on the new arrivals rack. Kuroo watched him stick his hand into the pile and fish around. He picked up a couple of games, flipped them over to read the blurb on the back, and then finally settled on one.

“Here,” Kenma muttered, thrusting the game case at Kuroo.

Flipping the game over, Kuroo was a little thrown by the differences. He expected dragons and zombies. Not some 80s undercover agent bullshit, complete with characters in one-piece jumpsuits with bellbottoms.

“Are you sure?” He asked to double check, hovering the handheld scanner slightly away from the barcode. “Last chance.”

Kenma rolled his eyes to the back of his head.

The cash register sprung open and Kuroo let out an embarrassingly loud yelp. Wide-eyed and face flushed a faint rose, Kuroo cleared his throat and said, “I swear I’m usually not this incompetent.” He pointed to the yellow arm band, “I’m new.”

Then Kenma narrowed his eyes, focusing on the characters on Kuroo’s nametag.

“No, you’re Kuroo,” he said, stating the obvious.

He didn’t seem to notice it, but Kuroo did, and he felt the heat rise from his stomach all the way up the back of his neck. A certain kind of misplaced fondness or just secondhand embarrassment, he didn’t even know.

He watched Kenma’s retreating back as he walked away from the cashier towards the escalator, swinging his backpack around to his front to stuff the newly purchased game into it. He told himself to stop staring, and he did so by busying himself with other employee duties. Like arranging the sales racks in alphabetical order. Or tidying up the discount bin.

Not like it actually helped though — it was a little hard to concentrate after everything that had happened, after all.

●

 

On Fridays, Oikawa takes Kuroo to the gym. Or rather _drags_ , because Oikawa always has a vice grip on Kuroo’s wrist and he has the compulsive need to speed walk through the crowd, making Kuroo feel like he’s in a pinball machine.

It was one of those grandiose gyms that occupied the entire floor of the building. In place of walls, the gym had installed tall glass panels which let in natural lighting, making the place appear more spacious than it really was. They had twenty treadmills arranged in a long row, stretched from one end of the glass window to the other, and plenty of weight machines in the back too. Honest to god Kuroo wouldn’t have been able to afford the gym membership if it weren’t for his student discount. But the gym was a nostalgic place and he couldn’t imagine going anyplace else — it was where he had met Oikawa, after all.

Daichi and Bokuto were waiting for them in the locker room when they arrived, talking about Bokuto’s new skin-tight pants.

“Those are not pants, Bokuto,” Kuroo teased, trying to hold in his laughter. _Man_ , were those leggings _tight_.

“Gah, I swear these are not leggings. I can even show you my receipt! And also, these were expensive and they make my ass look divine, so shut the fuck up Kuroo.”

Oikawa was giggling to himself, finding the entire situation ridiculous. He set his bag down on the bench in the middle of the room and fished around for his towel and water bottle.

“It’s really true,” Daichi leaned over to whisper, lips caught in a smirk. “I saw the receipt. Some new sportswear technology with an unpronounceable name. I’m not even gonna try.”

“You guys. I’d appreciate some enthusiasm here!”

Kuroo clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes obnoxiously, “ _Wow_ Bokuto, those pants leave _nothing_ to imagination.”

“These pants are so _fetch_!” Oikawa cooed along, albeit even more sarcastically, and Bokuto frowned back at them in mock hurt.

Daichi pushed them towards the treadmill machines, their usual first stop in their circuit routine.

“So how was your first week of work?” He asked as he climbed onto his treadmill.

Oikawa had his elbow on the arm of his machine, staring back at Daichi with a self-satisfied smirk, “Oh~, I’m sure Kuroo is dying to tell you about his week. Like, literally _dying_.”

“Urghhh,” Kuroo groaned, warming up his throat. He flung his head forward onto the treadmill dashboard with more force than he would have preferred and it produced a loud _clunk_.

“See, the work stress is already manifesting itself in the loss of body control,” Oikawa chirped.

Kuroo tried to pull himself together. He had an image to uphold. And he was at a gym — a _public_ gym at that.

He thought about his answer for a moment. He needed somewhere to start.

“There was a kid that came in not once, but twice this week. He’s really easy to spot with his carrot orange head of hair. He came in and picked things up, carried them all around with him, and then he decided _nah_ and just left the pile of shit on the nearest shelf and walked out. Without buying anything. Twice.”

Daichi looks sympathetic, offering a gentle it-sucks-to-be-you smile.

“Aw. I for one, unlike Kuroo, love my job,” Oikawa said with a hand over his chest, looking at Daichi now. “Don’t let his melodramatic recount of his first five days taint the image of our lovely workplace.”

“You bastard, just let me wallow in self-pity,” Kuroo side-eyed him, but the insult came out his his mouth lacking hostility, because really, no one could get angry at Oikawa even if they wanted to.

“Well…” Daichi started in an attempt to comfort Kuroo., “I’m sure you’ve had at least one good moment. It can’t be all that bad.”

The treadmill beneath Kuroo rumbled to life and he worked towards a slow jog, holding his finger on the up button until it reached his desired speed. It got hard to carry on a conversation after that, mostly because his mouth was preoccupied with breathing, and because the steady whirr of the machines made conversation in indoor voices absolutely impossible.

Oikawa went into excruciating detail about how he had managed to sell women electric face massagers, even repeating his exact factually inaccurate sales pitch, but Bokuto, who was jogging at the far end, kept going ‘WHAT?’, so they just decided to shut up for now.

Kuroo jogged to the pace of his wildly beating heart, feet pounding on the treadmill so hard he felt the energy reverberate up his bones. One good moment... It shouldn’t be that hard to think of one. Watching Yaku fall into the discount bin had been fun. Seeing Yamamoto getting shouted at after that was great too.

For some reason his thoughts drifted to glassy, gold eyes — eyes that were as bitingly cold as ice, yet piercingly bright like the sun.

****

●

******  
**

Monday mornings were horribly depressing. Kuroo figured, rubbing the crap out of his eyes, that he should have just stayed home and called it quits.

“You’re wearing your shirt inside-out,” Yamamoto commented in between sips of his hot drink as Kuroo walked into the pantry. A hot drink in the summer? Kuroo sure hoped that he wasn’t drinking that nasty coffee mix.

Kuroo looked down at his white t-shirt and shrugged.

“The label’s sticking out at the back.” Yamamoto wearily straightened up in his seat and pointed to his own back.

Had Kuroo been walking around like that in public? Well.

Kuroo pulled his red work vest out of his locker and slipped it on, spinning around for added emphasis. “There. Now I look like I’m awake and _so ready_ for this day,” he affected his voice in the most obnoxious way possible (it sounded a bit like Oikawa), then leaned against the locker and tilted his head back, uttering softly, “Kill me now.”

****

●

 

Kuroo was replacing the pricing stickers on the new arrivals rack when Kenma walked in. It was a little past noon and fast approaching Kuroo’s lunch break. His stomach had been growling since ten, and he almost regretted declining Oikawa’s third box of betrayal biscuits while they were walking from the train station this morning. He had been thinking of how much he wanted to retreat back into the break room so that he could sit down.

He perked up intuitively when Kenma stopped at his side, casting thoughts of his lunch break out of his mind so naturally that he’d only notice it much later.

“Gomen, Kuroo,” Kenma started. He was wringing his hands, and Kuroo couldn’t help but stare at his fingers. He liked the way his name sounded on Kenma’s lips. It sounded natural and it rolled off his tongue easily, as if he had been saying it for years.

“What for?”

Kenma hummed, then pulled his 3DS out of his sweater pocket and flipped it open.

“I underestimated the game,” he said flatly as the opening screen flashed neon green. “It’s actually pretty hard.”

Kenma’s broke into a shy smile. His voice seemed to gradually soften, as if someone was turning the volume down, “I could show you, if you want.”

Behind him Kuroo heard someone call. Probably Yamamoto from the sound of the grating pre-pubescent grumble. He turned around to see Yamamoto and Yaku standing in front of the door leading to the pantry.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Kuroo replied, suddenly not that hungry anymore.

Kenma brought his 3DS up to his chest, tilting it at an angle so that both Kuroo and him could see. The screen flashed in horrendously blinding neon colors and the game loaded to where Kenma last stopped. He was two levels away from completing the game and he had it all planned out: he would finish the current game on his way home so that when he eventually got home, he’d be all set to start on a new game.

“I have to kill the monsters with my gadgets, like my Laser Lipstick, or my,” Kenma paused to squint at the items in his inventory and clucked his tongue distastefully, “Wind Tunnel 3000 Tornado Blast Hairdryer.”

He side-eyed Kuroo almost immediately, “Do. Not. Laugh.”

Kuroo leaned over Kenma’s shoulder and watched him maneuver his character through the maze-like construct, which seemed awfully amateurish.

“This doesn’t look very difficult.”

“Oh, this? It’s not,” Kenma replied in a heartbeat, fingers still moving at a god-like speed. Kuroo was amazed at how he managed to listen and reply without slowing down at all. If it had been Kuroo, he would have dropped the 3DS on the floor.

“They only let me play as a female character, but that’s not the frustrating part. The only way I can earn enough points to upgrade my weapons is through,” Kenma made a deliberate pause here, his face recoiling as if he could taste bad memories. “ _Social interactions_.”

“So you have to date a couple of guys. I could get into that,” Kuroo hummed all too confidently, only pausing to think about what he had just said a few seconds later.

Mm. Wait.

“What I mean to say is-” Kuroo thoughtfully added after a gratuitous pause. He palmed the back of his neck and broke into an awkward smile.

In the background, Kuroo heard a resounding crash, followed by cacophonous laughter. Yamamoto again, without a doubt.

“YOU PUT ON WEIGHT!!!” Yamamoto’s shout sounded a bit muffled through the door, but Kuroo heard it nonetheless, followed by the sound of a softer thud, which was probably Yaku retaliating.

In that moment of distraction, Kuroo failed to catch Kenma’s lips as they twisted into a coy smile. It lasted for just a second; When Kuroo turned back around, he had already missed it.

●

 

Oikawa was the kind of son mothers loved to brag about. He was annoyingly good at everything without even trying, which was incredibly frustrating, given Kuroo’s general air of incompetence. He figured that if he had brought Oikawa home, his mother would have adopted him right on the spot, and Oikawa would gleefully exclaim into his ear that they were now brothers from the same mother.

Still, Oikawa was disaster incarnate. Kuroo had the pleasure of witnessing Oikawa juggle his bullshit excuses as he got told off by an old lady, who had definitely done some research into the product she was trying to buy. Apparently, electronic skin exfoliators worked the opposite of what Oikawa had just said.

Kuroo stood next to the toilet bowl display, which was a suitable distance away. The elderly woman looked like she was going to burst a vein, and Kuroo swore to God, she was practically vibrating in exasperation. Oikawa made several vague hand gestures, pulling out his unworn trainee arm band and waving it in front of her face, as if its sorry color was already a big enough apology. A few seconds later, she walked away, which could only mean that Oikawa pulled his pity pout on her and it worked. The bastard.

“Yahoo, found some like-minded company, I see?” Oikawa turned on his heels and sauntered over, as if he had known Kuroo had been there the whole time. He directed his gaze to the toilet bowls, and then back to Kuroo, grinning like he’d just made the best joke in his life.

Kuroo opened his mouth, then closed it. Damn it, his exhaustion was draining him of his ability to come up with a good comeback.

"Shut up," he managed to spit out a few seconds later. Kuroo wriggled his watchless wrist, "We're going to be late, so will you hurry up already?"

Oikawa offered a humble peace sign, then quickly shuffled into the back room to pick up his belongings.

****

●

They reached the gym fifteen minutes late, marking their fashionably late arrival by bursting through the men's locker room doors as they panted loudly.  

"It's completely Oikawa's fault that we're late," Kuroo immediately casted the blame on Oikawa because he rightfully deserved it. He dropped his bag next to where Daichi and Bokuto were sitting. Somehow, they always seemed to get here on time.

"Tch," Oikawa mocked. "Kuroo's just upset that he didn't get offered any free samples when we walked through the supermarket on the way here." Oikawa held his palm up in front of him and looked up at the ceiling for a moment in what Kuroo supposed was his dramatic monologue. "I, on the other hand, had a delicious, free slice of mango cheesecake."

Daichi raised both his eyebrows and nodded empathetically to Kuroo.

"I hate to interrupt your culinary orgasm, Oikawa, but we've got pressing issues to attend to. Did you forget?" Bokuto interjected. He stood and swung his towel over his shoulder.

Kuroo looked genuinely confused, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open as he stared back at Bokuto. "What."

"Housing assignments! For next year!"

_Oh_. Oops. Indeed, Kuroo had forgotten about that. It was also hard to grasp the fact that the four of them went to the same university, and mildly surprising that they've not caused any major havoc since the few months they started school.

"It's today?" Daichi piped up, and now Kuroo was _really_ shocked, because of all people, he'd expected Daichi to be the one with his shit together. Not Bokuto, and _definitely_ not Oikawa, who wasn't even participating in the conversation — he was squatting in the corner tying his shoelaces.

"Damn, Daichi. Would've thought Sugawara pencilled that shit into your schedule, or whatever it is you call that organizing crap," said Kuroo.

"Yeah," Daichi chuckled awkwardly, reaching into his gym shorts to pull out his phone. He swiped at it several times and paused. "Oh. _Oops_. He actually did. Haha. I should check my phone more often."

"But it's July, for fuck's sake. It's the middle of the school year. Actually, wait, not even the middle. What the hell?" Kuroo complained as he crossed his arms.

"Beats me, but can we start? I want to be ready when they announce our priority numbers. My happiness next year depends on it," Bokuto groaned, face twisting as he recalled his current living conditions.

They compressed a 90 minute workout into just a little under 50 minutes by reducing the resting time in between sets. There were no major casualties, just Oikawa complaining as he writhed in pain on the floor after doing 50 crunches in a row.

Daichi checked his phone for the time, conscientiously putting it to good and frequent use now, and announced that they were so efficient that they still had a good fifteen minutes to spare. Oikawa, bouncing back from his humiliating display of weakness ten minutes ago, gleefully suggested soba for dinner. He had his bag strap already on his shoulder and was jogging in place. He smelt like overpowering lavender, as did the rest of them, because, unfortunately, deodorant was the next best substitute for a shower.

Soba sounded like a good idea.

They headed down to the restaurant just across the street from the departmental store. It was a quiet restaurant tucked in between two famous restaurants that seemed to draw the crowd away, so they didn't have to wait long to get a table. The table, just like everything in Japan, was puny, so Kuroo and Daichi were sitting shoulder to shoulder.

At 7 p.m., when the housing email was supposed to land in their inboxes, Bokuto groaned for the twentieth time that night as he refreshed his inbox over and over again. What did arrive, however, was their dinner. Kuroo looked down at his tray: a plate of vegetable tempura and three tiers of soba noodles. He had this determined look in his eyes; he was going to eat back all the calories he had burnt, and he didn't feel the least bit guilty.

Halfway through the meal Bokuto's phone vibrated loudly, causing the table to shake as well. He scrambled for his phone and swiped the screen unlock, the light casting his visage in a foreboding glow.

Oikawa shifted slightly to wriggle his phone out of his pocket. "Sooo... the lower my priority number.... the higher my chances of getting a bomb ass room, right?"

"God dammit, Oikawa," Kuroo wheezed. "You literally went through this process four months ago."

Kuroo looked up from his phone and saw Daichi smiling. That son of a bitch.

"Whaddya get?" He probed, elbowing Daichi in the arm.

Daichi had a rare, cheeky glint in his eyes. "112."

Oikawa gasped loudly — loud enough for the old man sitting at the next table to choke on his noodles, "How could you!"

"Ugh, 558. I better set myself up for disappointment," Kuroo sighed into his cup of green tea. Maybe the hot liquid would wash away the taste of bad luck.

"Oh my god, can you guys not?" Oikawa slid his phone across the table petulantly. The three of them leaned over to study the small font on the screen, before breaking out into overwhelming laughter.

"One thousand, nine hundred and fucking fifty-two!" Kuroo roared, relishing in one of the rare moments when the universe fucked Oikawa over. "OH MAN."

Oikawa snatched his phone back and shoved it back into his pocket. "Shut up Kuroo, your noodles are getting cold!"

"My soba noodles _are_ already cold, you idiot," Kuroo grinned, wide and bright.

Oikawa cocked his head over to Bokuto, who had still not opened the email.

"Here we go.... The moment of truth...." Bokuto mumbled with his thumb hovering over the button. "Any moment now..."

After an unnecessarily long period of suspenseful silence, Bokuto eventually opened the email. He stayed silent, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open.

He slowly turned the phone around so that the other three could see.

"Did I win?"

Kuroo leaned over to closely inspect the email. It was a bit hard to read with the huge crack across the screen from when Bokuto dropped it in the bathroom last year.

****

**Congratulations, Bokuto Koutarou!**

**Your priority number: 0**

 

The table fell into harmonious silence. The three of them stared at Bokuto's screen wordlessly as they mentally processed the situation. Then, almost as if they'd read each other's minds, they burst into deafeningly loud laughter, which earned them several annoyed glares from the other patrons.

Daichi laughed quietly, his mouth in a tight line and cheeks puffed. Kuroo laughed in the same way he always does, clutching his stomach as he cackled until he felt his throat go dry. And Oikawa, as usual, contributed to 80% of the noise. His laugh was uninhibited and it radiated pure joy, head bowed forward as he slapped the table with his hands. Sometimes Kuroo wondered how they ever became friends, since they all had vastly different personalities, but moments like this made him sink his back into his seat as he wiped away actual tears from his eyes. That's why.

"I'm pretty sure the lowest you can go is a 1?" Daichi was the first to speak, voice inflecting at the end as he tried to soften the blow.

Kuroo, still fighting the tightness in his abdomen from vigorous laughter, managed to add, "You might as well set up a tent on the field."

Bokuto buried his face in his hands, sighing in defeat, but Oikawa patted him on the back. " _Or_ , you could call housing services and insist that you deserve that 0. Hell, why not, I'll even do it for you!"

"What, hoping some of his good luck will rub off on you?" Daichi teased.

They got back to finishing their noodles and didn't have to worry about them going cold, which had been incredibly sharp foresight by Oikawa, but Kuroo wasn't going to say that out loud and further inflate his ego.

Oikawa was ranting about the irate elderly lady from earlier today when Daichi cut him in the middle of his rant, "So, Kuroo. Please tell me you have something of substance to say. Please."

Oikawa scrunched up his face and furrowed his brows at Daichi. " _Rude_."

Kuroo hummed pensively, eyes straying to random parts of the restaurant as he searched for an answer — the lady at the other side of the restaurant and her monstrous atrocity of a purse, the blown light bulb on the wall, the circles of water underneath their cups of iced water.

"Oh!" it suddenly came to him and he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. From one of the compartments, he pulled out a square piece of paper and unfolded it, holding it up so that the rest of them could see.

"Look. Me," he pointed at a scratchy doodle of himself. "Kenma drew me."

Bokuto leaned so far across the table that his nose was almost touching the piece of paper. He squinted hard to decipher the messy pen marks. The only thing that remotely suggested it was Kuroo was the over exaggerated hair, which was drawn spiky and larger than Kuroo's actual head.

"Kenma?" Oikawa questioned, his head tilted to the side as if he was trying to sieve through any recollections of Kuroo bringing up the name.

"One of my regulars," Kuroo mentioned offhandedly, more interested in returning to his story. Oikawa pushed his tray of empty dishes away from him and crossed his arms, settling into his seat more comfortably. This was going to be good.

"So today Kenma came in looking for a really obscure game, released in 2009 or something. Wow. That actually feels like a lifetime ago. 2009. God. I remember being a human disaster in 2009."

Kuroo's brain took it upon itself to bring back a mental image of himself in jeggings, and how he thought they were the coolest things ever. He visibly winced.

"You still are~" Oikawa chimed in, snide and smug.

"Shut up Oikawa. Anyway, I got Yamamoto to search for that in the storeroom because I really needed him out of my face. He took twenty minutes, by the way, because apparently before 2010, no one considered the idea of arranging inventory systematically. We had some time to kill, so, _naturally_ , Kenma pulled his summer homework out of his bag and I swear to god he looked like he was going to sit on the floor and do it."

"Naturally," Daichi deadpanned, finding the entire situation hard to believe. Almost as outrageous as Bokuto's priority number incident. But that had actually happened, and Daichi reckoned, with the malformed doodle Kuroo staring in his face, that this had to be the real deal too.

"Don't give me that look. He's actually a really interesting person, underneath all that sarcasm and worrying video game addiction," continued Kuroo.

Oikawa was grinning deviously across him, as if he had in on a secret no one else knew.

"What."

He rolled his shoulders back and loosened up in his seat, saying nonchalantly, "I'm just saying. You're carrying that tatty piece of paper in your wallet. Folded it all small-like and put it next to other important things like your debit card. No big deal."

If there was one thing Oikawa was good at, it was his ability to see through people. Obviously, his 20/20 vision aside, he had a knack for understanding people and making judgements based on the minute pieces of otherwise inconsequential details. Almost immediately after they had become friends Kuroo had realized this. Oikawa was someone he could rely on, despite the way he looked and the impression he gave. Sometimes, Oikawa could see so well that Kuroo only noticed things after being told. It would feel like a rude awakening, like someone shining a torchlight directly in his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kuroo said in between sips of tea. He tipped the cup back to finish the last bit of tea.

"You'll see," Oikawa replied confidently.

****

●

******  
**

The Apple store employees were of a special breed. They were always smiling, as if someone had permanently frozen their face that way. They reminded Kuroo of the creepy dancing puppets from his trip to Disneyland a year ago, when he stumbled out of It's a Small World and swore, _never again_.

It was just a little after the store opened for the day. He sat on one of the spinny high stools at the cashier, using his feet to propel himself in circles as he listened to Yamamoto elaborate on his 'Apple Store Conspiracy Theories'. Yamamoto leaned across the table, his weight resting on his elbow, and spoke in a low rumble like he was in a secret spy movie.

"That guy over there, the one sitting at the Genius Bar," he said. He cocked his head in the vague direction, "Don't be obvious."

Kuroo hopped off his chair — loudy — and rested both his elbows on the table, saying, "Where?"

Yaku sighed.

Yamamoto jerked his head again, this time more forceful. Behind the Genius Bar sat a gruff young man who looked around the same age as them. His shoulders were hunched over the laptop in front of him and he looked like he was close to strangling someone. Kuroo felt an ounce of pity for him, since he probably had to fix a huge pile of problems caused by computer idiots.

"He's not the same. You can tell from the way he rolls his eyes at his coworkers when they're not looking," Yamamoto continued, sounding more convincing by the minute. "He's one of us. I know it."

"You mean, tired of life and minimum wage?" Kuroo coughed.

"Exactly," Yamamoto pounded his palm with his fist like a gavel. "We need to save him."

●

 

The day passed rather uneventfully. When Kuroo next glanced at the clock he realized it was half an hour to four, which marked the exciting end to his shift. He had sold a grand total of zero items today, which was a blow to his ego since Oikawa had messaged him to announce that he'd sold five of those negative ion necklaces at once.

Kenma strolled in ten minutes to four, for the third time this week. He had on the same pair of faded red sweatpants from the day before and he looked the same, except for the dark stain on his right knee which he later explained was dried ketchup. He walked to a different corner of the store today in a change of habit, and Kuroo found himself leaping off his stool at the cashier, bounding behind Kenma.

"I need a new pair of headphones," Kenma announced flatly, glancing to his side briefly to acknowledge Kuroo's presence. The tired drawl of his voice made the action sound like a chore. For a guy who seemed to dislike leaving the house, Kenma sure went shopping often.

"What, gamed too hard?" Kuroo teased, falling into a comfortable pace as they walked over to the headphone rack.

"Nope, accidentally sat on them," Kenma sighed, then paused as he glanced off into nothing, contemplating the death of his favorite headphones.

Kenma had an odd sense of humor. Most of the time, he wasn’t even joking. It was just the way he described things, and the tone he used to talk about them. He could be talking about the pickles he had to pick out of his cheeseburger and Kuroo would still find it hilarious.

He had last seen Kenma yesterday in the same outfit. It felt as if they had continued from where they had left off the day before — Kenma balancing his notebook vertically against the shelf wall as he attempted to draw him. Kuroo had commented on his own lack of artistic talent and Kenma, naturally, felt the urge to prove him wrong. He had handed over the scratchy drawing of Kuroo and pouted, feeling that picture could speak for itself.

Eventually, Kenma picked a pair of headphones after a considerable amount of time spent comparing product specs. Kuroo rung up his purchases at the cashier, scanning the barcode in like an expert after close to three weeks of practice. Everything else that followed was done with almost mechanical instinct: He packed the box neatly into a plastic bag, held it out to Kenma, and then gave a quick, fifteen degree bow, saying "Thank you for shopping with us, have a nice weekend".

Kenma caught Kuroo glancing at the clock.

"Are you going home?"

Kuroo nodded readily. "Yamanote Line. It's going to be hell at this hour though," he said as he slipped the trainee band off his arm.

"I'll wait for you here," Kenma mumbled.

Kuroo nodded, then quickly ran into the back to retrieve his belongings.

 

●

 

It was still bright when they walked out of the store. A pleasant sort of brightness, one that didn't beat down on him as harshly as usual.

"How's that summer homework coming along?" Kuroo asked, just a little after they've crossed the intersection. It hadn't occurred to him that they were walking in comfortable silence up till that point.

Kenma let out a strangled voice as he grimaced at the sky, "If I ignore it long enough I can pretend it doesn't exist." The plastic bag in his hand swung like a pendulum as he walked.

"What about _your_ summer homework?"

Kuroo cleared his throat, "Good news, Kenma. College students don't get holiday homework. That's something you'll get to look forward to. When you get to go to college. _When you turn 18_. Ah, I miss high school." He had a dorky grin on his face. He was anticipating Kenma to catch on, and it clearly showed on his face.

"Shut up, Kuro. You're not that much older."

They came to a stop at the last crossing before Ikebukuro station. It dawned upon him, like consciousness streaming in when he rubbed his eyes awake in the morning, that the two of them existed outside of the electronics section on the sixth floor of the departmental store. That they now existed no longer as an employee and his customer, but as two friends.

"Kuro!" Kenma called out, jolting him out of his reverie. Kenma was standing in the middle of the crossing, looking at the world's biggest idiot.

Immediately, Kuroo dashed past Kenma and towards the other side, giggling.

The look of concern on Kenma's face morphed into betrayal. "Ugh, you little-" He seethed, before running after him.

 

●

 

"Oof," Kuroo muttered when a huge mass of commuters pushed their way onto the train at Shinjuku station. He felt himself get carried off towards the opposite end of the carriage — almost like crowdsurfing, except that it was neither voluntary nor remotely enjoyable. He felt someone's back against his own and something might have kicked his knee, which caused him to stumble slightly.

The train shook to life and continued its journey.

Kenma's chest was pressed against his, and despite the discomfort of not having enough space to breathe, Kuroo thought that this was something he could get used to. The carriage was quiet — the product of a weekday evening, when commuters were usually too tired to tap on their phones, opting to stare into blank space instead.

Kenma chose to cast his gaze down on the floor. His pudding-head hair was especially clear from this vantage point. The black strands at the roots slowly blended into platinum blonde, and the transition seemed so natural despite the harsh contrast in tone. Kuroo looked above him instead, carelessly reading the words on the printed ad hanging from the ceiling.

The train made a curve along the way and Kuroo flailed his arms slightly to regain his balance. It happened all the time, so Kuroo was surprised that he had forgot about that. He might have been distracted by reading the ads. Kenma quickly grasped the corner of his shirt, fingers curled around the edges tightly and palm pressed against Kuroo's flat stomach.

"Thanks," Kuroo smiled, looking down at Kenma, whose head was still tucked into himself. It almost looked like he was curling himself into Kuroo's chest.

Then, unexpectedly, Kenma brought his gaze up to meet Kuroo's. For a moment, Kuroo felt the world slow and blur into itself. The buildings outside were engulfed in the dark of shadows; the people around him — even the briefcase poking his ass — didn't seem to matter anymore. Kenma's lips curved up into a shy smile and his eyes were wide and bright, and Kuroo thought it was cute how the edges of his eyes crinkled.

Above him, a female voice announced that they were approaching Yoyogi. All at once, everything returned to normal. If anything, it felt as if everything was sped up to make up for the lost time. Kenma was carefully examining his shoelaces, as he was a couple of minutes ago.

There was the lingering feeling of warmth in the space between them, like a smouldering flame.

Kuroo gulped, long and hard, as he pictured Oikawa's smug ass face at the back of his mind. _Oh no_.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kuroo found himself on the floor at the foot of his bed on Saturday morning. The alarm clock on his bedside table was blaring, but he supposed he could continue sleeping like this. On the cold, hard floor, even. If his mother were to come into his room to turn the alarm clock off though…

Feebly, he crawled to his bedside dresser and slapped the objects on the table until his hand registered the shape of the clock.

His blanket was still wrapped around his torso like a cocoon. He pressed his face against the wood of the dresser, hoping that the pathetic action itself would be able to help him get a grip on things.

The events from yesterday washed over him with uncanny vividness, like a fog suddenly clearing. He had made a startling revelation yesterday, and he hadn’t been able to shake it off since. Kenma alighted a stop earlier at Ebisu. He gave a small wave, the plastic bag hanging on his third and fourth fingers, then ducked underneath the arms of people holding onto the handrails as he stepped out of the train car. Kuroo had tried to say something, he really did. _See you soon_ , or something simple like _Bye_. That should have been easy enough to manage. But his voice would not come out, and the most he could manage was a small puff of air out his throat.

Kuroo kicked the blanket off him and dumped the sheets on his bed. He'll make his bed later when he's in the mood, or when his mother wakes up. Whichever came first.

As he waited for his toast to pop out of the toaster, he stared into the frosted glass of his kitchen cabinet, in which he made out the outline of his head and terrible bed hair, as well as the muted morning light which reflected off the glass. He had no idea why he was up before 8 on a weekend.

Kenma had been swimming in his thoughts for hours, and he thought it was stupid. What was Kenma's favorite color? His favorite animal? He knew none of those things. It must take a special kind of person to fall for someone whom they knew nothing about.

The toast popped out of the toaster with a cheerful _ding!_. Kuroo stood there, body leaning against the counter, examining his hands which now felt so foreign, feeling like he suddenly didn't know what to do with them. By the time he pulled out the drawer to retrieve a flat-edged knife and spread a dollop of grape jam over his toast, he realized it had already gone cold.

Two hours passed without any notice. If anything, Kuroo felt a certain kind of numbness permeating through his body, as if he were mentally and physically lost. When was the last time he felt this way? High school?

He dialled Oikawa's number into his phone. He needed to talk to someone and get things off his chest. The phone rang six times, then the line cut, plunging Kuroo into the infinite dial tone, faintly reminiscent of a flat line. He must be busy.

Kuroo's phone rang again around ten minutes later, just as he was spreading his blanket over his bed. His bedside table shook with violent intensity, and he rushed to pick the phone up before it vibrated off the table.

"Yahoo~ You called?" Oikawa's voice seemed to echo on the other line.

"... Where are you?"

"At work, silly! Or more specifically, in the bathroom. To answer your call," said Oikawa. In the background, Kuroo heard someone flush the toilet.

"So. You must have called for a reason. Am I right, or am I right?"

Kuroo sat on the edge of his bed and rolled onto his back, crumpling the sheets he had just laid. "Ugh, Oikawa. You were right. About everything."

"Hold on a sec, Kuroo," he heard Oikawa pull the phone away from his ear, then the tapping of fingers on a surface. He continued, "Kuroo, could you repeat that sentence for me one more time?"

"Oikawa, you were right. Absolutely, fucking right. Let me die," Kuroo sighed with his eyes closed. Steeped in darkness, he waited for the earth to swallow him whole.

In the background, he heard someone washing his hands. Then the sound of a paper napkin being pulled out of the dispenser and some angry crushing.

"Wow, what's up?" Oikawa spoke a few moments later. "Did something happen?"

"Kenma happened."

"Ooooooh. Knew it."

"Hey, are you-" Kuroo pushed himself up into a sitting position, "Are you free for lunch?"

Oikawa deliberated over it for a moment, "Hmm, I should be getting back to work soon. It's not natural for someone to take fifteen minutes to pee. Maybe during my lunch break? Is an hour enough for you to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets?"

"Ok. Yeah. Whatever," Kuroo found himself unusually agreeable.

Oikawa asked, "Anything you want for lunch? Preferences?"

"Something sweet, preferably. I've been feeling sluggish all day, and I don't think coffee's going to do it."

Oikawa let out a loud _oh!_ and it reverberated in the toilet stall.

"I have the perfect place in mind!" He chirped. In the background, he heard the loud flushing of a toilet bowl. It sounded too close for comfort, and Kuroo had the creeping suspicion that—

"Gotta go, Kuroo! Need to put my pants back on and head back to work!"

●

 

 **Oikawa (10:59 A.M.)** : hello, my favorite loser

 **Oikawa (10:59 A.M.)** : take exit 35 and meet me outside KFC, ok? 12ish.

 **Kuroo (11:02 A.M.)** : KFC??

 **Oikawa (11:03 A.M.)** : dont worry, i remember what you said

 **Oikawa (11:03 A.M.)** : "i need sugar because i'm weak"

****

It took Kuroo an extra ten minutes to locate Exit 35, since it was conveniently not located next to Exit 34. He was right in the middle of the peak hour crush of bodies, but they were thankfully walking out of the station as well, so all he had to do was follow the flow of the crowd.

He stood outside KFC, following Oikawa's instructions. Trying not to stand in the way, he backed up until he was touching the glass window. He shifted his weight from heel to toe, idly passing the time.

Oikawa arrived a short while later, dressed in a white work shirt and black trousers. The standard affair, even on weekends.

"Did you know they're selling those jelly popsicles on the ground floor? The ones that look like penises?" Alas, Oikawa's opening line.

"What? No?" Kuroo replied.

"They're like teaching kids how to give handjobs or something. Which, I suppose, is good sex education. Society needs better handjob-giving people. Still weird though."

Oikawa led him down the street, then paused at a rather ordinary looking steel spiral staircase on the side of one of the buildings.

"In here," Oikawa pointed.

The spiral staircase creaked under his own weight. The steps were spaced wide enough to let him see through the cracks. It wouldn't be too far a fall if he slipped through the holes.

The cafe Oikawa was talking about was located on the second floor of the building. It had a retro design: neon blue and pink lights along the perimeter of the small cafe, faded yellow star stickers on the ceiling, as well as a gigantic glass case next to the door, which held plastic food replicas of the desserts. Twelve of them in total, Kuroo counted.

A pudgy waitress led them to an unoccupied table next to the glass wall, which allowed them a decent view of the intersection below.

"Everything looks good, I can't decide," Kuroo admitted, looking dumbfounded at the menu. The cafe had a cute astrology theme going for them. _Milky Way Cafe_ was printing in a swirly cursive font at the bottom of every page.

"Go with your starsign, Kuroo! You're a Scorpio, right?" Oikawa leaned over and used his index finger to trace a line across the page. His finger landed on the adjacent image of the Scorpio parfait.

Their orders arrived in around five minutes.

"So. This is lunch. Huh," Kuroo sighed mildly, looking at the bowl of ice cream and custard in front of him.

"Of course. Now, on to serious business." Oikawa took a spoonful of his strawberry ice cream and shoved it into his mouth. "I believe you came to me for something very important."

"Shut up."

Oikawa sighed as he bit into his waffle. Talking with his mouth full, he continued, "Time's ticking, Kuroo! Your ice cream is melting. My lunch break will be over in—" he looked at the time on his phone, "35 minutes."

Kuroo swallowed a spoonful of ice cream to dull the heat in his throat, but it didn't do any good.

"I think... I like Kenma," he stammered out. He took another spoonful of ice cream. Unlike Oikawa, he had better sense than to talk with food in his mouth.

"And?" Oikawa prompted.

Kuroo narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, _and_?"

" _And_ , what are you going to do about it?" Oikawa waved his spoon around.

"Oh. I haven't thought about that. Nothing, I guess."

"What?"

"Come on, I just realized that I like him less than 24 hours ago, Oikawa. I haven't had the time to plan my wedding yet."

Oikawa smirked, "Well, we can plan it together now. Right here." He slammed his metal spoon down on the base of his bowl to make a point, producing a muffled clunk.

"I don't know if he likes me. Hell, I don't know _anything_ about him," Kuroo was talking with his mouth full of ice cream now. "I feel like I'm thirteen all over again."

"Ah yes, the infamous 2009. _The jeggings_."

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face, you bastard. You're enjoying this too much. "

"Hey! I care about you! Here I am ingesting empty calories, listening to your secrets!" Oikawa held a hand over his chest.

"Ok. Sorry. I just... don't know what to do. I could do nothing. That's the easiest right? Let things take it's natural course?"

"Yeah, a road to nowhere, you mean," replied Oikawa. Oikawa thought for a moment, sucking on his spoon. Then, an idea hit him.

"You're the one who said that you knew nothing about him. There. Step one. Get to know him!"

Kuroo's lips pulled down into a frown, "You're making it sound like it's easy."

"That's because it is!"

Kuroo bit on his lip and sighed. He figured that it was worth a shot.

The remaining ice cream in his bowl had melted, leaving a weird, artistic swirl of chocolate and vanilla. He drank the liquid down like soup, to Oikawa's disgust.

****

●

******  
**

_Get to know him_ , Kuroo heard Oikawa's voice repeat like a broken record in his head. After a while it became annoying because it gradually became the _only_ thing Kuroo could think about. Almost as headache-inducing as the company jingle blaring through the overhead speakers.

"WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ANIMAL?" Kuroo asked the moment Kenma stepped out of the elevator. Given the fair amount of distance between them, his voice came out more like a shout.

Kenma paused in his tracks, looking confused, as if someone had shaken him awake.

"Cats?"

He shuffled over to Kuroo, the backpack on his shoulder swinging slightly as it bumped against his side with every step.

"I need the _Outlast_ expansion pack," Kenma stated dryly as he picked off the imaginary lint on his fuzzy-looking t-shirt.

They strolled over to one of the aisles and Kenma watched as Kuroo fingered through cases until he found what he was looking for.

"Is that guy... okay?" He heard Kenma mutter with a tinge of concern. Kuroo looked up and found him staring over the shelf at some poor kid at the discount bin. The kid was holding two games in each hand, violently alternating his gaze between the both of them.

Kuroo approached him and offered his assistance, realizing only after he had finished speaking that Kenma had also tagged along, opting to stand behind Kuroo in case the kid had violent tendencies.

"I'm buying a gift for a friend, but I don't know what he likes," the boy put it plainly. His grip on the two cases was still tense — Kuroo wouldn't be too surprised if he broke them.

"What is this friend of your’s like?" Kuroo offered.

The boy pressed his lips into a thin line, "Loud and annoyingly persistent."

Kenma tip toed to whisper into Kuroo's ear, "He's not going to like those games, Kuro. They're in the discount bin for a reason."

The boy set the cases back into the discount bin.

"Do you have a budget?" Kuroo asked, awkwardly shifting his gaze from the boy's face, to Kenma's face, then to the sad discarded games.

The boy responded with a question, "What do you have that's less than 2000 yen? I don't love him that much." And as soon as the words left his lips, his face grew bright red, and Kuroo imagined steam rushing out of his ears.

Behind him, Kenma snorted.

 

●

 

"I don't blame him though," Kenma continued, referring to the event that had transpired ten minutes ago. Kuroo took a while to deduce what he was referring to.

"I get like that when I have to choose between games too. Or when I have to choose between a proper meal and my favorite apple pie. 800 yen is not an acceptable price for a slice of pie, by the way. But I guess some sacrifices have to be made."

They sighed in unison. Ah, broke student problems.

"How about it, Kenma? We could get dinner _and_ dessert. My treat, since I'm earning some money," Kuroo said thoughtlessly as he returned to leafing through the cases to find the particularly elusive expansion pack. His fingers stalled over one of the cases when he processed it. The silence weighed on him like a thick blanket.

"Sure, just let me tell my mom not to cook my share of dinner," Kenma replied a moment later. From the rustling of his pants Kuroo could tell he was pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Kuroo let out an excited yelp when he finally found the game he had been looking for at the end of the stack. He should have started looking from the back, damn it.

"I get off at 4, if you don't mind waiting."

Kenma was smiling now, as if the thought of dessert itself was enough to push out any negative thoughts. He replied, "Sure. I'll just walk around or something and find you later." He looked at the time on his phone. 45 minutes didn't seem too long.

Just before leaving, he asked, a cheeky smile on his lips, "Just to be sure, dinner _and_ dessert, right?"

Kuroo's eyebrows furrowed, "You're making me sound like I'm bribing you with food."

"Well," Kenma replied as he turned away, ambling towards the stairs. He had a self-satisfied grin hanging on his lips. "Aren't you?"

 

●

 

Yamamoto came elbowing at Kuroo's waist as soon as Kenma disappeared down the stairs. His laugh was a low rumble, bordering on annoying.

"Ayyy," he started, sounding like one of those stereotypical boneheads that always appeared on American TV, "High five!"

"What?"

Yamamoto raised both his arms in the air like he was surrendering. "I saw you make your move," he teased. "Smoooooooth."

"No. Well. Whatever," Kuroo spit out, pacing over to another corner of the store where he'd find himself more useful.

Unfortunately for him, there he met Yaku, who was sticking new price labels on random items, and he made a point to flash Kuroo a knowing smile every time they made eye contact. Every single time.

 

●

 

Kuroo should have probably asked for Kenma's phone number before letting him wander off. There were altogether eight levels in the building, and the thought of having to make a round on each floor to find him caused him unnecessary mental aggravation.

He had even briefly skimmed past the third floor, weaving in and out of the crowds of women examining electronic toothbrushes. There, coincidentally, he passed Oikawa, who was kneeling on floor as he tied his undone shoelaces. Oikawa asked him what he was up to, and why he hadn't gone home yet.

"I'm five minutes into my shift and I'm already soo tired," he complained, his shoelaces still looped around his fingers.

When Kuroo explained why he was literally running around in circles, Oikawa gave a sly smile and slapped him hard on the back for good luck.

Eventually, he found Kenma sitting on a sit-up bench in the gym equipment section on the seventh floor, furiously tapping on his phone with surprising vigor.

"What are you doing?"

"Farming," Kenma sighed as he closed the application and shoved his phone into his sweater, following Kuroo as they walked towards the train station.

"My favorite dessert place is in Ginza. We could take the Marunouchi Line there," Kenma suggested. "I don't really care what we eat for dinner."

"5 honestly sounds too early for dinner though."

Kenma snorted, "It's nice to eat when there aren't many people around. I like places with as little people as possible. It gives me space to think, as well as space to sit."

Kuroo chuckled, "True."

Thankfully, the train was not as packed as it was the last time, even though there still weren't any seats available. Both of them stood in the center of the car. Kuroo grabbed onto one of those triangular handles dangling off the horizontal bar above him, swinging left and right each time the train started and slowed to a stop. Kenma, on the other hand, wasn't interested in expending energy by raising his hands above his armpits, so he held on to the hem of Kuroo's loose jacket.

"What do you do in school?" Kenma asked, not looking at Kuroo directly. He was looking at Kuroo's reflection in the glass. The underground train moved so quickly that the plain concrete tunnel walls blended into a homogenous black.

"Boring stuff. I don't know. I'm a finance major, which is a joke since I'm so bad with money. I still ask my mom for my allowance."

Kenma stifled a laugh with the back of his hand.

"Hey! You're not allowed to laugh! You're the one who's spending all your money on games."

Kenma hummed, turning his head to look at Kuroo now, "I guess you could say, we've both got tragic character flaws."

 

●

 

Kenma skimmed through the shitty looking menu placed on the stand outside one of the tiny ramen stores near the exit gates of the Ginza metro station. His lips pulled down slightly as he progressed onto the next page.

"Let's try another one," he suggested, moving on to the next eatery in sight.

Upon realizing that the next and only remaining ramen store was a standing slurp-and-go one, he turned on his heel, speeding back to the earlier store. Kuroo followed behind, slightly amused.

The inside of the store was slightly dim, but it looked clean. Kenma reached into his pocket to pull out a bunch of coins, shaking them in his palm like a sieve to pick out the appropriate coins.

"Hold on, let me," Kuroo said, patting both his back pockets to see which one held his wallet. Upon seeing Kuroo's wallet in his hands, Kenma pushed it away.

Kenma dropped the coins down the little slot in the vending machine, producing a loud clunk every time each coin hit something in the big machine. When he had inserted enough money for a Tonkatsu Ramen, the button lit up, as did the poorly color printed picture above it.

After the both of them received their tickets for their meals, shaped as small as those standard train stubs, they passed it to one of the waiters, then retreated to a cozy corner at the back of the store.

"So. Any idea what you wanna do in university?" Kuroo asked as they took their seats. His stool seemed to have uneven legs, wobbling everytime he shifted his weight.

Kenma let out a huge sigh and covered his face with his hands, "Don't ask me about the future."

"Ok ok. Something else. What do you like?"

Kenma was spinning his pair of chopsticks on the table while Kuroo munched on Japanese pickles. He drummed his fingers on his cheek, resting his chin on his palm as he thought about his answer.

"Cake. Video games. I don't know, pretty boring stuff. You?"

"Volleyball, for sure. Have you played before?"

"Eh, a couple of times in gym class. It went a lot better than most sports — I didn't get hit in the face or anything. But I'm not much of a sports person," Kenma muttered. He glanced to the kitchen door every now and then to check if someone would emerge with their noodles.

"Kenma. You've got to give it another chance. Volleyball will change your life," Kuroo's eyes were shining brightly.

Kenma scoffed, "Volleyball isn't a religion, stupid. You can't convert me."

"Yeah, well. You just haven't played with the right people."

"Mm. I guess you could say that. My classmates weren't exactly very... talented."

The next time Kenma eyed the kitchen door, the waiter really did emerge with their orders. He set down the bowls in front of them, before retreating back into the kitchen.

"Ok. So I kinda know what you like. Now, Kenma. What do you hate?" Kuroo said, his later words punctuated with the sound of slurping.

Kenma snapped his chopsticks in two and raised both his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you wanna get into that?" It sounded like a challenge.

Kuroo's eyes were sharp, like a cat in the night.

"Try me."

 

●

 

Kenma usually spoke in a measured tone, as if he was saving his energy for other activities. If Kuroo closed his eyes and ran his voice through his head once or twice, he would describe it as a muted sunset, or a smouldering bonfire just a few minutes before it went out. But now—

"Wet doorknobs. When people only start looking at the menu when they reach the front of the line. When I sit down on the train seat and it's all warm and sweaty. _Gross_."

He paused to drink some water, then continued, “When people hold the door open for me, even though I’m fifty metres away. People that run after buses. The bus driver, when he stops the bus to let those people on. _Ugh_.”

He watched Kenma's lips curve and close as he formed the words that spilled out his mouth. It was rare to see him excited like this. It was distracting — entrancing, even — and Kuroo stared until he noticed Kenma's mouth speaking out of time. The drumming in his ears was growing louder and louder.

Kuroo had to pinch himself to get himself out of it, which elicited a concerned "You okay?"

Kenma cocked his head to the side in question.

Kuroo never felt any greater desire to plunge his head into his bowl of ramen.

●

 

In actuality, Kenma’s favorite dessert place was just a single stall in the Ginza department store basement. He pressed his face against the glass panel as he examined the products up for sale that day. The nice lady packed the apple pie into a transparent plastic box and placed two forks inside, handing the paper bag over to Kuroo with great care.

The search for a place to sit led them out of the department store and into the dull heat. Kuroo shrugged off the jacket on his back and tied it around his waist.

They hopped onto one of the low brick walls that surrounded the raised flower beds outside the station. Kenma gently lifted the box out of the paper bag and used his nails to pick at the piece of tape holding the box closed, looking like a kid unwrapping a present.

Kuroo found himself needing to tear his gaze away, instead choosing to focus on something really far away. His palms were nervously running up and down his thighs, for some odd reason. Kenma didn’t seem to notice. He handed Kuroo a fork without a word.

Kenma continued his rant about the general incompetence in his high school cohort, as well as his stuffy school uniform.

“Oooh, uniforms. I’m into those,” Kuroo shifted his weight back onto the two arms behind him. He recalled his high school days with fondness.

“Ew, pervert,” Kenma slapped his shoulder non-committedly.

“Hey. You know what’s convenient? Not having to think about what to wear to school. And also the overwhelming power of being able to dress with your eyes closed.”

Kenma held out the pie between them, urging Kuroo to have the first bite.

“OH MY GOD,” Kuroo exclaimed, eyes watering.

The smile on Kenma’s face only grew wider, “I know.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

Kuroo stared hard at the unassuming slice of pie in the ordinary looking box. The pastry melted right into his tongue and the apple paste was just the right balance of sweet and sour.

It was nice, sitting like this. No one spared them any attention — who would care about two harmless looking boys, anyway? They had their own little bubble, in which they could point at random passers-by and laugh without feeling guilty.

He felt heat rising up his back, an indescribable attraction rooting itself like a spine.

The empty plastic container lay between them on the brick wall. Kuroo considered, his fingertip tracing the little valley between two adjacent bricks, that maybe he should have bought two.

Kenma’s legs were too short to reach the floor and it hung limply over the wall, heels occasionally clicking when his feet swung.

“I have to get home,” he mentioned after five minutes of people-watching with Kuroo. While that had been interesting — counting the number of bald men with their fingers, making up tragic backstories about random strangers — he had pressing issues to attend to.

“My expansion pack is waiting for me.”

Kuroo was just about to turn into the Tokyo Metro entrance when Kenma pulled on the sleeve of his T-shirt to get his attention.

“If you’re not in a rush, mind taking the Yamanote Line with me? I like it better.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They climbed up the stairs to the open-air platform and walked to the area with the least people in line.

“How many more weeks of vacation do you have left?” Kuroo asked. He gazed up ahead and made awkward eye contact with a man in a suit on the opposite platform.

“About three. The same as you,” Kenma was tapping at the square plots of land on his farming game as he collected coins. Kuroo leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look, his cheek brushing slightly against the blonde hair, and he saw Kenma’s finger still, hovering over the screen as if it were waiting for something to happen. Quickly and embarrassingly, Kuroo pulled away and stood upright.

By some stroke of luck, they managed to find a pair of empty seats after majority of the passengers emptied out at Ginza.

Kenma liked the Yamanote Line, but there he was next to him, asleep.

Kuroo could see why he liked it though. Once the train passed into the more quiet parts of Tokyo and subsequently let off its passengers, Kuroo was gradually able to see the other side of the train car without bodies blocking the way. The setting sun ducked behind the high rise buildings, occasionally showing between the little cracks between them, as if she were in a game of hide-and-seek.

With the gentle caress of sunlight against his skin, as well as the warm press of Kenma’s nodding head on his shoulder, he felt an inexplicable sense of calm.

●

 

“Kuroo. You’re unknowingly embarrassing yourself,” Oikawa frowned.

Kuroo took a nice, long drag out of the 1 liter milk carton in his hand.

“Oh,” he started, “I’m well aware of this train wreck.”

Daichi set the menu in his hands down, eyeing the carton of milk nervously. He pointed out, “I don’t think you’re supposed to bring outside drinks in here.”

“What’s the worse they can do? Kick me out? Sure, I don’t mind,” Kuroo pulled out his chair and slumped his body on the back. “Can we get this over and done with? I wanna go home.”

Oikawa cleared his throat and begun seriously, “We have gathered today for an urgent matter.” He interlocked his fingers and placed his hands on the table. “Kuroo’s happiness depends on it.”

“I know. I saw,” Bokuto replied. He brushed his thumb over the conversation on the group chat last night.

_**Oikawa** changed the subject from **GYM TEAM** to **DREAM TEAM**._

“Can we order something to drink first? The waiter’s been looking at us for the past fifteen minutes,” Daichi wiggled the menu in the air, hoping that the small movement would serve as a good enough distraction, because judging from the immense concentration Oikawa was steeped in he wouldn’t even be able to notice his voice.

He threw a glance to Kuroo, who hadn’t said a thing up to that point. Honestly, Kuroo’s seen better days. He wasn’t sure how Kuroo’s bed hair managed to look worse but _it did_ , and he would bet money on whether Kuroo even changed out of his pajamas that morning.

“I’ll get a latte,” Oikawa decided after humming to himself.

The waiter scribbled that down on his notepad.

“Matcha latte for me please,” Bokuto said.

“Black,” Daichi answered, and the waiter continued scribbling down the orders without even looking up once. His hand stalled over the next line as he waited for Kuroo’s order.

Oikawa kicked Kuroo under the table.

“Ugh,” Kuroo shifted in his seat and rubbed the crap out of his eyes. “I’ll get a _Whatever_ to go with _I Don’t Give a Fuck_.”

Daichi’s face lit up with panic, as well as second-hand embarrassment, but the waiter simply looked up from his notepad and raised his eyebrows with pursed lips, wearing an expression that probably said _Don’t worry, this happens a lot_.

“Just get him a black,” Oikawa waved a hand.

After the waiter retreated back to the counter and sound of the coffee machine started in the background, Oikawa continued, gesturing at Kuro with two open palms, “And here we have exhibit A, actual evidence of said train wreck.”

Kuroo picked a grain of dried rice on the bottom of his shirt. Was it from last night’s dinner? Probably.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows, “Don’t eat that.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Kuroo gave him a derisive snort and flung it over his shoulder.

“Ok. Good. He hasn’t reached his ultimate low yet,” Bokuto heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Seriously though. Look at him. Look at what a teeny weeny crush reduced him to,” Oikawa shook his head. “He can’t sleep, can’t brush his hair — well granted, he couldn’t even do that before — he might even start picking food off the ground like a pigeon.”

“Oh shut up, you melodramatic pissbaby.”

“It seems like my help alone is unable to drag you out of this state of drunken stupor. Thus, I have carefully assembled a team to ensure your success,” Oikawa seemed pleased with his speech. Kuroo wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“Why are you looking at me,” Daichi felt uncomfortable with two pairs of expectant eyes on him. Kuroo, on the other hand, had his forehead on the table.

“Uh, because you’re the only one at this table who’s not single?” Oikawa said like it was the most obvious thing.

“Right.”

Then, a chorus of sighs.

“Ok. I know what Daichi needs. A starting point,” Bokuto announced decisively. “How did you and Sugawara meet?”

Daichi sinked into his seat, seemingly melting from the rush of good memories. He sighed, “In the bathroom.”

Kuroo made a choked laugh against the wooden table, which managed to drown out fifty percent of his depressing misery.

“Ok, and?” Oikawa added. To think he hadn’t heard this story before. He wondered why Daichi never told them.

Daichi hummed and hawed, twisting his mouth in various shapes until he found an appropriate way to phrase his answer, “The handle on the bathroom stall was jammed and I couldn’t get out. So I had to shout for help. Suga just happened to be there.”

“So Sugawara ran out to call for help?” Bokuto asked.

“Uh, no. I climbed over the door and Suga caught me when I almost fell,” Daichi’s face was growing hot.

Kuroo lifted his head up, “Impressive.” He gave Daichi two slow claps.

The waiter arrived with their cups and transferred them onto the table, breaking the silence.

Oikawa pulled his latte closer to his and used the spoon to stir it, immediately destroying the coffee art. “And how did you fall in love?”

Daichi looked helplessly at Bokuto, who returned a clueless shrug, “Don’t ask me.”

“It just happened.”

It was too early in the morning for anything that bitter, so Kuroo tilted his unfinished milk carton over his cup of black coffee and stirred. He mumbled, voice hoarse, “Thank you very much for that very insightful advice. Now that we’re done, can I leave?”

“No no no, Bokuto hold him!”

Bokuto swung a leg over Kuroo’s lap.

“Since Kuroo’s having such a hard time articulating his emotional distress in words: He’s hopelessly in love with Kenma,” Oikawa announced.

Kuroo felt his throat closing up on him and his voice came out constrained, “I think we established that fifteen minutes ago.” The deadweight on his lap did _not_ help at all.

●

 

“Ok, Plan B,” Oikawa clapped his hands together.

“Hold on, gimme a sec. The internet is slow,” Daichi clasped his fingers together and waited expectantly for the page to load.

From Kuroo’s seat he could already read the large, bold words.

****

**HOW TO TELL IF SOMEBODY LIKES YOU**

 

Once the page finished loading, Bokuto slid the phone towards him and read aloud, “Number One: Shyness. They will find opportunities to talk to you and secretly sneak glances in your direction.” He looked up and stared at Kuroo intently, “So. Does that ring any bells?”

Kuroo chewed the inside of his cheek, “That sounds more like me than Kenma.”

“But look, Kuroo. He’s the one that visits you at least twice a week. He gets out of his bed and puts on outside clothes and travels all the way to your store,” Oikawa chimed in.

“Yes but he has legitimate reasons to—”

“And judging from whatever you’ve told me before, I’m like 80% sure that Kenma doesn’t even like leaving the house,” Oikawa said with conviction.

“Number Two: Signs that he might like you. Like blushing. Looking away from you. Avoiding eye contact,” Bokuto continued.

Kuroo’s neck felt warm like he was running a fever.

“You know what,” Daichi interrupted, “We’ve been skirting around the main issue for a long time.

“Kuroo, why do _you_ like him?”

Kuroo thumbed the handle of his cup, “He’s funny, and nice, and I feel comfortable around him. Besides that,” he cast his gaze to the side, “He’s beautiful.”

****

●

 

Kuroo knew that he was being dumb. And scared. That fretting over his feelings was wholly unnecessary. And his friends, though well-meaning, had failed to boost his confidence. Instead, Oikawa, looking grim and at his wit’s end, had suggested, his voice floating through Kuroo’s head, “Observe him. You’ll see it for yourself.”

When he emerged from the train station exit, he found himself in the middle of a fairly heavy drizzle. The rain wasn't heavy enough to fully drench him, but neither was it light enough to walk without an umbrella. He stood at the top of the stairs of the station entrance for a few moments as he processed this fact, only snapping back to reality when he realized people were stepping around him, obviously annoyed that he was blocking away. He fished inside his messenger bag for his compact umbrella and pulled it out. Then, he stepped into the rain.

The summer heat made walking through the rain uncomfortable. It felt oddly steamy, as if he were in a sauna, and the droplets of rain that managed to land on his forearms felt like his very own beads of sweat.

Maybe if he were sitting back at Milky Way Cafe he would have enjoyed the sight: the discordant mismatch of colored umbrellas bobbing across the intersection, as if they were riding on a wave. They would come all at once when the pedestrian crossing light flashed green, and then stop, proceeding in the other direction.

But here, caught in the wave itself, Kuroo found it frustrating and almost nauseating. Not only did he have to avoid being poked in the face by someone else's umbrella, he also had to avoid puddles of water to avoid ruining his shoes.

The rain slightly dampened his mood, but he decided, somewhere in the middle of the second and third crossing, that he was going to face his problems head on.

 

●

 

To nobody’s surprise, Kenma strolled in a bit after one in the afternoon, right in the middle of the lunch peak hour. Kuroo was stationed at the cashier and was unable to leave his spot until the line cleared, but he managed to give a small, discrete wave. Kenma returned the sentiment with a small wave, his arm tucked into the side of his body.

In between customers, Kuroo would look up from his workstation and scan the crowd for a blond head of hair. It didn’t help that it was the launch date of a brand new game that day, which made the floor more crowded than usual.

Occasionally he would make eye contact with Kenma, who was browsing the new releases section at a leisurely pace. Kenma would always smile, a little sheepish, before quickly shifting his gaze back onto the display.

And once, when Kuroo looked up, he saw Kenma bent over, like he was touching his toes, as he picked up items on the bottom shelf. He shifted his weight between his two feet slowly and deliberately, almost as if he knew Kuroo was watching.

Kuroo gulped.

The customer in front of him cleared his throat. Right.

Kenma left without buying anything that day, seemingly displeased with the selection. He did, however, stop by the cashier to bid Kuroo farewell. He stood behind the metal chain that demarcated the line and said mildly, “See you, Kuro.”

Bright, and a little surprised, Kuroo grinned.

●

 

He didn’t know what it was about that interaction with Kenma, but he felt infinitely better than he did in the morning.

It was now half past nine at night, and Kuroo had set off on a run around the neighborhood, opting out of the gym session with his friends in favor of some peace and quiet.

He felt useless yet powerful at the same time. A billion thoughts ran through his head and he decided that he only needed one. One moment of courage. One sentence. When his feet pounded on the asphalt, the asphalt struck back, and he felt the fatigue in his bones set in mid-dash.

Slowing to a stop, he realized he had no idea where he was. He was in a quiet, residential neighborhood, definitely. The buildings were a bit old, but the lights showing through the windows showed that there were people living in them. Some of the apartment complexes were a combination of mismatched patches of grey, as if they were abandoned halfway into completion, leaving its skin just bare concrete without a layer of paint.

He walked further up ahead until he spotted a convenience store tucked between two taller buildings and stepped inside to find something to drink.

"Kuro?" He heard Kenma's voice before him. He sunk the tip of his fingernail into his palm to make sure it wasn't all in his head, leaving a bright red crescent on his skin.

Kenma was standing at the ice cream bin next to the door with the glass panel slid open and one hand stuck inside. "Want some ice cream?"

Kuroo took a breath. "Yeah. Sure."

They sat on the bench outside of the store. Kuroo gently peeled off the plastic wrapper around his ice cream cone, while Kenma grimaced as he tried to pluck off the paper on his Cornetto. The plastic bag between Kenma's feet rustled whenever his feet brushed against them, sounding especially loud in the quiet neighborhood.

"One week left," Kenma lamented.

He knew Kenma was probably talking about school, but the niggling feeling in his gut urged him to think about it in a more aggravating manner. It's a countdown.

You have one week left before it all expires. This: the brush of Kenma's shoulder when he bumps against you, the squeeze of Kenma's face when he sees you do something embarrassing, the sad and depthless look in his eyes when he watches you leave, as if all those goodbyes were a dry run for the final departure.

"I need to talk to you about something," he interrupted.

This was followed by a length of silence.

"You're getting ice cream on your hand," Kenma pointed out, reaching into his pocket for tissue paper.

_One moment of courage._

"I like you," Kuroo spit out, feeling more drained than when he was running. "I like you a lot."

Having thrown that out there, he felt so vulnerable.

Kenma used his tongue to lick a long swipe over his chocolate ice cream, all the while making eye contact, "I know."

The melted ice cream on Kuroo's hand was now warm on his skin. Kenma reached over and dropped the pack of tissue paper on his lap.

"I was obvious. You were obvious," Kenma mumbled, not looking anywhere near Kuroo now. He leaned his head back against the cool glass wall and stared up at the power lines that cut across the sky, illuminated by the dim street lighting. Every few seconds, he bit into his ice cream cone.

"Wait. You. What?" Kuroo stuttered. At this point his ice cream was long abandoned.

Kenma pushed himself onto his feet and bent over to pick up his plastic bag of purchases. "I was waiting for you to chase me," Kenma chuckled, like this had been a game and he had just won.

He started walking off, so Kuroo dumped the rest of his forgotten ice cream into bin, as well as the napkin after wiping down his entire right hand.

Kenma walked on the thin white line painted along the street, placing heel to toe and toe to heel as he strolled slowly. The sparse street lighting made everything in front of them barely visible. When they passed by a street lamp, the light painted shadows with their silhouettes.

"Could you say it again?" Kenma asked out of the blue, after they had been walking in comfortable silence for a while.

"I like you, Kenma. I really do," Kuroo breathed out as soft as a whisper. Inside, he felt like he was flying. The gutsy feeling like his heart was going to fall out of him; that feeling he gets when he’s speeding down the roller coaster, his butt is off his seat, and the only thing holding him down is his seat belt.

He reached for Kenma's hand and pulled him close. He gave in to the desires that had been tormenting for the past month, closing the distance between them. And he thought, with a hand wound around Kenma's side and Kenma soft lips against his own, _I'm going to explode and I don't care._

"You smell gross," Kenma said when they pulled apart, eyes still squeezed shut, the long shadow of his eyelashes fanning across his cheeks.

Kuroo laughed, uninhibited, "Shut up."

 

●

 

"I knew this was a bad idea," Kenma groaned. He was standing in the middle of the gym floor, surrounded by sweaty men and the smell of salonpas. "I trusted you and you did this to me," he continued, his face scrunching up into a grimace as he followed behind Kuroo, weaving through the gym equipment. The sit up bench had the sweat imprints from the previous user.

Kenma’s eyes widened in disgust, "Oh god."

Kuroo tried not to laugh.

Oikawa, Bokuto, and Daichi were waiting for them near the weights station, chatting idly with their towels over their shoulders. When Oikawa spotted Kenma, he screamed.

"You know what," Kenma decided. "I think I'm just going to sit and watch."

He found a clean-looking spot on the ground and sat down, watching Kuroo struggle as he did squats with weights on his shoulders.

"Nice ass," Oikawa purposely commented to distract Kuroo. He turned his head to the side, "Right, Kenma?"

Kenma caught himself nodding, uttering absently, "Yeah."

Kuroo's balance faltered, and it took both Daichi and Bokuto to steady him to prevent him from hurting himself.

 

"I said I'm sorry so can we _please_ -" Kuroo was squirming in his seat, the start screen of _Outlast_ flashing on Kenma's monitor.

"We made a deal," Kenma tapped on the mouse. "I go to the gym with you, which ended up terrible, by the way, so you have to engage in my interests as well."

"Can we at least turn on the lights?" Kuroo whimpered. He didn't like the background music. Every few seconds or so he looked at his feet to make sure they were still there.

"No."

Kenma sat next to Kuroo, attentively looking at Kuroo's reaction. Occasionally, Kuroo wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

Ten minutes later, Kuroo was walking through an abandoned asylum with night vision goggles on and static playing in the background. Every time the door creaked, or something in the distance moved, he froze in his seat.

He was walking through the corridor with night vision on when a dead body fell from the ceiling and Kuroo screamed. His chair tipped backwards fiercely and he landed on his back with a loud thud. Painfully regretting all his life choices, he groaned louder to mask the sound of Kenma's dying laughter.

●

 

Kuroo fingered the hem of his ugly red work vest, feeling the crusty ends underneath his calloused fingertips.

“Growing nostalgic already, huh?” He heard Yaku say from behind him.

Yaku set down the boxes of goods down in front of him and took a seat next to Kuroo at the cashier. It was Friday afternoon, just a little after three.

“Not really,” Kuroo mumbled, then, “Okay. Maybe a little.”

He was going to miss the place, believe it or not. Not really much of the waking up early, nor was it particularly fun trying to man the cashier, but he was going to miss the people. Even Yamamoto, whom he had grown to like over the past few weeks.

“When’s your last day?” Kuroo asked, turning his head to the side to find that Yamamoto had joined in the conversation.

Yaku and Yamamoto sighed as they looked at each other, saying resignedly, “Next Friday.”

If there was something Kuroo had to do before he left, it had to be this.

“What are you doing,” Yamamoto practically screamed, his expression mortified as he watched Kuroo walk towards the Apple store. Kuroo was trampling on his “Rule Number Two” with each and every step.

The carpet felt patronizingly warm under his feet, and he stuck his hand out at the employee sitting quietly at the Genius Bar, whose face was etched in a permanent frown.

“Hi. I’m Kuroo,” he said dumbly, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t thought things through. What was he going to say after this? Well.

The man shifted slightly in his seat and looked back at him with his eyebrows at the top of his forehead. He let out a soft huff, “Oh. Yeah, I’ve seen you before. I’m Iwaizumi.”

Kuroo had just reached over to shake Iwaizumi’s hand when he heard a familiar voice resounding through the entire floor, and then, a loud crash. He turned his head around, hand still hanging limply between them, and saw, to his utmost horror, Oikawa buried shoulders deep in the discount bin.

 

●

 

“Where’s Tooru?” Kenma asked, eyes trained on the microwave in front of him.

They were in the supermarket in one of the department store basements. Kenma had placed a bucket of crispy chicken and a box of potato croquettes in the microwave and was waiting for them to be done.

Kuroo looked at the time on his phone, “I don’t know why he’s taking so long.”

They found an empty table in the corner of the store and sat down as they waited. After his last shift, Kuroo returned his red vest and trainee arm band, and the white shirt he was in now made him feel oddly naked.

“Fuck it, I’m hungry,” Kuroo grumbled, pulling off the tape on the side of the takeaway box.

Oikawa showed up around ten minutes later, face flushed from running as he apologized for being late. He set down the box of lemon tarts in the middle of the table.

“Guess what I bought,” Oikawa grinned, shaking the plastic bag that indicated he had been shopping at Tokyu Hands.

Kuroo chewed thoughtfully on his piece of chicken, “Probably something dumb.”

Oikawa riffled through his bag and proclaimed triumphantly, “Sporks. And also bathroom wine glass holders.”

Kenma tried to hide a smile behind a piece of chicken.

“So, Kenma,” Oikawa started as he reached his hand into the bucket of chicken, “What are your plans for university?”

Kuroo quickly cut in, “No, don’t ask him anything about the future-”

“I’m thinking about the one you go to,” Kenma said decisively, his teeth sinking into meat.

After they had finished their chicken and wiped down their hands with paper napkins, they started on the lemon tart. Kuroo’s face scrunched up and he sighed.

Beside him, Kenma added, “Not better than apple pie, but a close second.”

Somewhere along the line, Kuroo’s free hand ended up on Kenma’s lap under the table, absently drawing circles on his pants.

“Hey Kenma, do you own a Macbook?” Oikawa asked, his teeth absently chewing on the straw in his drink, “Preferably broken?”

Kuroo sighed in resignation.

“So what’s it like, Kuroo? Dating a high schooler? So juvenile,” Oikawa teased.

Kuroo choked on his lemon tart.

Oikawa pointed at Kuroo, who was gulping down some water to clear his throat, “Kenma. You’re dating this guy.”

Looking at Kuroo with his face leaned against his free palm, Kenma mused, his voice light and affectionate, “I think I can put up with him for the rest of my life.”

Underneath the table their fingers were linked, and Kuroo felt like he had the whole world in his hands.

 _Yeah_ , Kuroo figured, feeling the happiest he had been in a long time, _forever sounded like a good idea_.

**Author's Note:**

> some things:  
> \- i tried to make this as realistic as possible. but please close both your eyes when it comes to the japanese education system. i have no idea how that works. bless my clueless soul.  
> \- you can try guessing how many of the things in this story have actually happened irl  
> \- you can guess all the little cameos  
> \- you can also guess the number of times i complained about writing  
> \- i got the title from this [wongfu video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EsSyQfi218)


End file.
